The Search for My Great-Uncle’s Head

by Jonathan Latimer

  “I’ll say it was,” said Dan Harvey. “We had to bust it down.”

  “That’s funny.” Burton spoke solemnly. “When I went to bed the door was unlocked.”

  George Coffin blew out his lips in irritation. “But what happened?” he demanded of his son.

  “I don’t know any more than Dan and the professor.” Burton accepted another damp towel from Dr Harvey and placed it over his forehead. “I went to sleep, and when I woke up I was all tied and gagged.” There was a kind of horror in his eyes. “I darn near died with that gag. I have a cold, and I can’t breathe through my nose very well. And I couldn’t breathe through the gag at all. I thought I was going to suffocate.”

  “How terrible!” exclaimed Mrs Coffin.

  “Well, whoever it was,” observed George Coffin, “was interested in your private possessions.”

  I had noticed a certain disorder about the room, but it had not made an impression on my mind. Now as I looked I could see that it had been thoroughly ransacked. The bureau draws had been opened, and their contents—shirts, pajamas, underwear, handkerchiefs and socks—had been dumped on the carpet. A suitcase, opened, lay on its side in one corner of the room, and by it was an empty golf bag, its clubs lying in a fan-shaped figure at the foot of the silver radiator. Immediately a thought flashed into my mind. I glanced at George Coffin and saw reflected in his eyes a similar spark of interest.

  We were both thinking of Mrs Spotswood.

  Dr Harvey spoke in a loud voice. “I’m going to get some bandages, and I think it would be a good idea if everybody but Grace cleared out. The boy has had a bad shock.”

  As everyone moved toward the door Burton said to me: “Thanks, Prof. If you and Dan hadn’t come I might have kicked off.”

  “Oh, not that,” I said. “But it must have been devilish uncomfortable.”

  Out in the corridor George Coffin pulled me aside. “We have to check on Mrs Spotswood,” he declared.

  I nodded.

  “We’d better get Miss Leslie to do it, so’s not to alarm her,” he continued. “Don’t you think that’s the best way?”

  I said I did, and my cousin signaled Miss Leslie to come over to us. She was pale, but her skin had a luminous quality about it that made me think of the advertisements for cold creams in the smooth-paper magazines. I had a difficult time keeping my eyes from her skin and the soft curve of her jaw.

  “Burton’s all right,” George Coffin assured her, irrelevantly as far as I was concerned, “and how about doing something for us?”

  “I’m glad he’s not terribly hurt,” she said. “It must have been a ghastly experience.” Her eyes, with the gray iris so dark that they were almost violet, were wide. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just see if Mrs Spotswood is all right. She and Mrs Bundy seem to be the only ones not aroused by the noise. We would talk to her, only we’re afraid it might alarm her.”

  “Of course I’ll see.” She moved swiftly down the hall, having never once looked at me during the conversation.

  We watched from the stairs while Miss Leslie held a brief conversation with Mrs Bundy, whose head, festooned with curlpapers, timidly appeared from the door to Mrs Spots wood’s room on the floor above. In another group, at the opposite end of the second-floor hall, stood talking Miss Harvey, her mother and her brother, who was evidently describing his part in the freeing of Burton Coffin. I could hear him saying: “So I said to the professor, ‘If it’s the madman let me have the first shot. I can bring him down if anybody can.’”

  “Aw,” replied Miss Harvey, “I’ll bet you were hiding under the hall rug.”

  Miss Leslie returned. “Mrs Bundy says Mrs Spots-wood is asleep. She says the noise woke her up, but she was afraid to leave Mrs Spotswood alone in the room while she investigated.”

  “Did she wake Mrs Spotswood?” asked George Coffin.

  “No. Mrs Spotswood is still asleep.”

  George Coffin looked at me, then thrust out his lower lip. “Well, that seems to be that.”

  Miss Leslie’s eyes were upon Dr Harvey, coming out of Burton’s room with his medicine case. “What is the meaning of all this, Mr Coffin?” she asked in a low tone. “Why would anyone attack your son?”

  “I’m completely in the dark, Joan.” Cousin George was also watching Dr Harvey. “I can’t imagine what’s behind all these mysterious events, but I’m inclined to doubt that it’s the work of Mr Glunt.”

  “So am I,” I said. “I think someone in this household is responsible.”

  Miss Leslie turned her eyes upon me for the first time. “Who?” she asked.

  I was about to reply that I didn’t know when Dan Harvey, who had just gone into his room, appeared at the door. “Hey!” he shouted. “Look what’s happened here.” He was trembling with excitement.

  We hurried to his room and crowded in the doorway. The disorder of the interior surpassed even that of Burton Coffin’s room. The prowler had evidently done a thorough job of going through Dan’s personal belongings. The floor was littered with clothes.

  “My soul!” exclaimed George Coffin. “What in the world is he looking for?”

  Miss Leslie was standing out in the hall, and I squeezed past Mrs Harvey and her daughter to reach her side. “Was your room in order when you left it?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she replied with surprise. “Why?”

  “I wondered if he was going through everyone’s room.”

  “But I was in my room.”

  “So was Burton Coffin.”

  She smiled a little at me. “I’m not afraid. I’ve nothing hidden away in my room anyway.”

  “Nothing except yourself.”

  “That’s not of much value to anyone,” she said.

  “I don’t know. I think you might be very precious to someone.”

  George Coffin and Dr Harvey came out of Dan’s room. Dr Harvey was saying: “I’m going downstairs and get me a shotgun. I’m not going to sit around without any weapon and wait for somebody to bust into my room.”

  Miss Leslie’s laughter was low. “Precious to whom?” She had just a trace of dimples.

  “To me, for one,” I said.

  George Coffin called to the doctor. “Bring me up a gun, too, will you, Doc?” He came over to us.

  I may be flattering myself, but I am sure there was a touch of color in Miss Leslie’s cheeks. “Is this a declaration, Professor?” she asked.

  “Not exactly,” I said with a lack of gallantry which would have shamed the Earl of Rochester. “I was thinking of the insurance.”

  “The insurance?” There was genuine wonder in her voice.

  George Coffin said, “Is this a private conversation, or can anybody join in?”

  “Anybody,” I said. “I was simply speaking of Uncle Tobias’ life insurance.”

  “His life insurance?” repeated George Coffin in almost the same intonation as Miss Leslie.

  “Don’t either of you know about the life insurance?” I demanded. “The hundred thousand dollars worth?”

  “Whew!” George Coffin blinked in amazement. “No.”

  Miss Leslie shook her head.

  “Well, he did leave that much insurance in addition to the estate,” I said. “That’s why I was telling Miss Leslie she might regard herself as precious.”

  “But why?” asked Miss Leslie.

  “Because half of that insurance goes to you.”

  Surprise and consternation showed on her expressive oval face. “To me? But why did he leave it to me? I’m not even in the family.” There was complete dismay in her tone.

  George Coffin was blinking at me. “But I don’t see how that makes her precious.”

  “You will,” I said. “The other half goes to me.” I paused to give them time to digest this. “And if either Miss Leslie or I die the other has complete control of the hundred thousand.” I found I was peering into Miss Leslie’s gray eyes, and while this did not appear to embarrass her, I turned my head. “In other wo
rds she could be worth fifty thousand dollars to me.”

  “You mean, if you killed her?” asked my cousin.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh!” Miss Leslie appeared shocked, but not frightened. “Please don’t talk like that.”

  “I simply wanted you to know about it,” I said. “I only found out tonight.”

  George Coffin’s eyes were amused. “You know, Peter, that you’re also worth fifty thousand dollars dead, to Miss Leslie?”

  It was my turn to be shocked. “Why that’s utterly ridiculous.” I scowled at him. “You might just as well come out and accuse Miss Leslie of murder.”

  Surprisingly Miss Leslie found this funny. “You just warned me about yourself,” she said. “I might as well warn you, now that I know about the insurance.”

  “Say, this is nutty,” complained George Coffin. “You two each warning the other to beware. I suppose you’re going back to your rooms now and write notes, saying: ‘If my body is found under strange circumstances please question Miss Leslie (or Peter Coffin).’”

  I was forced to laugh. “It’s nothing like that. I was trying to tell Miss Leslie about the insurance, and I guess I did it in my customary clumsy manner.” I saw she was smiling too. “I don’t believe she’s terrified of me.”

  “I’m not,” she smiled. “Are you of me?”

  “No.”

  Mrs Coffin came out of Burton’s room and paused a moment beside us. “Burton’s asleep,” she said. “Are you coming back to bed, George?”

  “In just a second.” He waited until she had gone into their room, then asked, “How in the world did you find out about the insurance, Peter?”

  I didn’t know whether it was advisable to mention my conversation with the insurance company’s detective, so I pretended it was a mystery. “Oh, I have ways of finding out things,” I said nonchalantly.

  Chapter XI

  I TOOK my customary late morning swim alone. I felt a bit shaken by the mental and nervous strain I had been under when I woke up at quarter past twelve, but the tingling, ice-cold water made me feel quite fit again. I splashed about vigorously, swam out to the raft and back, tried out a few dives and returned to my room. I felt very hungry.

  Bronson was waiting for me when I reached the dining room, his thin face solemn. After we had exchanged greetings I asked him where everyone was.

  “They’ve all had breakfast, or rather lunch,” he said. “The elder Coffins and Dr Harvey have taken one of the cars to Traverse City. Mrs Harvey is still indisposed, and the young people have gone for a walk.”

  “I’m sorry to be so late, Bronson,” I said, “but no one called me.”

  “That’s quite all right, sir. What would you like to eat?”

  I started out breakfast-fashion with orange juice and a heaping dish of fresh blueberries and rich cream and then completed my meal with a cup of coffee, German fried potatoes and four crisply broiled brook trout.

  “Mr Bundy caught them this morning,” Bronson explained. “He’s a rare hand with a fly rod.”

  “They’re delicious,” I declared, squeezing a lemon over the last gold-and-white rectangle of flesh. “I haven’t had any fish like these since I used to catch them in the meadow creek with worms and a bamboo pole.”

  The harsh lines in Bronson’s face softened. “We never thought in those days that anything so terrible as this would befall the house, did we, Mister Peter?”

  “We certainly never did.” I laid my napkin on the table and, encouraged by the softening in Bronson’s manner, asked: “Have you found out any more about the person you suspect?”

  He glanced quickly around the room, then shook his head.

  “Are you going to continue to withhold the information from the police?”

  “I don’t know, Mister Peter. I should hate to cause trouble find perhaps disgrace for an innocent person.” His eyes were as black as jet, and they peered straight into mine. “What would you advise?”

  “I have an idea, Bronson,” I said. “A private detective is to arrive here today to investigate Mister Tobias’ death and the loss of the will. I suggest you tell your story to him. He is quite reliable, and I am sure he will hold anything you tell him confidential until it is necessary to act upon the information.”

  Bronson’s eyes, to my relief, left my face, and he nodded slowly. “I think I shall avail myself of your advice.” He pretended to be clearing the dishes from the table, “Did you send for the detective?”

  “No. He’s coming about the life insurance.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Then you know about the insurance?”

  “Only by the reference to it in the will, Mister Peter. It said you and Miss Leslie were to use the money (it didn’t say how much it was) to provide scholarships for an equal number of boys and girls in American universities of which you approved.”

  This put quite a different light on the business. It may seem strange, but I felt a sudden relief. The thought of having fifty or one hundred thousand dollars to spend on myself had actually terrified me, and I was pleased to learn that the direction in which the money was to be spent had been pointed out by Uncle Tobias. I much preferred to live in my obscure but perfectly comfortable way on my own income.

  “Why didn’t you tell the sheriff about the insurance yesterday?” I inquired.

  “To tell you the truth, Mister Peter, it completely slipped my mind. I only just thought of it when you spoke of the detective.”

  “I don’t think there was any harm done.”

  I stood up, and Bronson started for the kitchen with the empty platter. “What do you make of the prowler who tied up Burton Coffin?” I called after him.

  Bronson swung around toward me, his face harsh again. “If you want my opinion, Mister Peter,” he said dramatically, “I’ll tell you I believe the young gentleman tied himself up.”

  “Oh, come now, Bronson. How could that be possible?”

  He refused to say more than, “He could do it, all right.” When I tried to question him, he retreated into the pantry, and I was forced to go out onto the veranda. I took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs made of pine, with seats and backs of bark, and speculated on how soon Colonel Black would arrive. I hoped he would come before nightfall as I had begun (with reason) to dread being in the big house with only such amateur guards as we could provide. Moreover, I was eager to see what he would make of the odd and perplexing incidents which had enlivened my stay in the house. If he could make sense of them, I thought, I would be prepared to believe that he was indeed a great detective as well as an authority on the Elizabethan period. I felt that he would have encountered nothing more confusing, and hardly anything bloodier, in the plays of Will Shakespeare or Christopher Marlowe.

  My reflections were broken by the appearance of Miss Leslie on the veranda. She appeared very trim in a brown tweed skirt, a soft green leather jacket, brown sport shoes shaped somewhat like moccasins and an orange-colored silk scarf tied about her neck. She was hatless, and her dark hair was charmingly wind-blown.

  “Did I disturb you?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” I said, springing to my feet. “I was simply looking at the lake.”

  She seemed slightly embarrassed. “I was out walking with Burton and the Harveys when it began to sprinkle,” she said. “They were determined to climb the sand dune as far as the watchtower, but I thought I’d better turn back before the rain came.”

  “I think you were wise.” I saw that the clouds were ominously black at the north end of the lake and that a fresh wind was throwing up whitecaps. “I give it about ten more minutes before it pours.”

  She smiled. “I’m not hoping that the others will get drenched, but …”

  I completed the sentence for her. “It will serve them right for not agreeing with your forecast?”

  “At least they needn’t have been so positive that it couldn’t rain.”

  “Your triumph,” I said, “will be even more positive when they re
turn dripping wet and find you sitting comfortably before a nice fire.”

  Her teeth were small and even, and I could just discern her dimples. She said, “I wanted to thank you for sitting in front of our rooms in the hall for the remainder of last night.”

  “Karl and I didn’t mind, as long as Burton was disabled.” I could see no reaction to my thrust, so I continued, “And besides, I thought that if something happened to you I’d be the one they’d blame for it.”

  “You thought,” she repeated musingly. “You mean you don’t think so now?”

  I told her how the conception of the insurance had been altered by Bronson and added, “I don’t see how either of us would benefit by the other’s demise now. It would merely mean a different trustee.”

  She frowned, then smiled. “I think I’ve been what is known as a plaything of fortune for the last two days,” she said. “That’s twice I’ve been a rich woman for a few hours.”

  “Twice?”

  “Yes. The insurance and the will.”

  “Then you did know something about the new will?”

  “Only that there was such a will and that I had, in the words of your great-uncle, a substantial interest in it.”

  I looked at her smiling face with admiration. “You seem to have borne the loss with fortitude,” I said.

  “So have you,” she replied. “You know you’ve sustained the same losses as I.”

  “To speak the utter truth, Miss Leslie, I’m quite well pleased. I don’t want the responsibility of being wealthy. The only loss I regret is that of this house. I played here every summer as a boy, and I love it better than any place in the world.”

  “It is lovely,” she agreed.

  At that moment a squall of considerable force swept across the yard from the lake, bringing with it a few large drops of water and rush of green and yellow leaves.

  “We’d better go inside,” I suggested. “The storm is about to break.”

  “Oh, the wind is cold!” she exclaimed. “I think we could use that fire you spoke about.”

  “Come on, then. Let’s build it.”

  Birch bark, kindling and larger logs were in the basket beside the fireplace, and in a few moments I had a bright fire started. The wind was blowing steadily now, rattling the windowpanes on the lake side of the house. Waves of cold air poured into the house. I was closing some of the french doors on to the veranda when Bronson arrived to help me.